Death, Be Not Proud
by Anera527
Summary: Frodo is already gone. Pippin is next, victim of the strange Shadow haunting the Shire. When Merry finds the young Took it becomes a race against time to save Pippin from what he has become.
1. Prologue

"_**Death, Be Not Proud"**_

Disclaimer: I do not own LotR. I have added some elements of vampirism to suit my own needs and the story, however. I also do not own the title of the story, as I took it from the poem "Death, be not proud" by John Donne.

A/N: I had stumbled across a few vampire!hobbits stories and found them interesting enough, but I never really thought about writing my own. Then the other day I was listening to 'Sleeping Sun' by Nightwish and I put pencil to paper and wrote—and this is the result. Vampires are often overrated in my opinion, and I know that the idea of hobbits as vampires is, truthfully, quite laughable; but for this story I tried to make it a little different from any other vampire!hobbit story that's been written, and I've tried to write it with as much heart as I can. All I can ask for now is for my readers to try to take it seriously. As with all of my other stories, this will _not_ be slash!

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Prologue:

Whenever Pippin Took had thought about his future, it had never been like this. Never, even six months ago, had he thought he would be here, trembling in Merry's arms, an undead night-walker being led by a _Man_ no less to try and find a cure. Six months ago, he would never have dreamed that he would have been the reason a life was ended right here in this abandoned building.

Merry was still stroking his hair, trying to settle himself down as much as his younger cousin. Pippin wasn't even a fully grown hobbit but he had aged so much since the Brandybuck had found him in the grove outside of Tookland; very little of the energetic, talkative lad Merry had known was left. Even now he lay unnaturally still in his arms. Merry tried to ignore the sickening sight of drying blood that stained Pippin's clothing, the evidence of the death he had brought about with one of Strider's daggers.

Pippin finally stirred from his thoughts and looked up at his older cousin with red-gold eyes that were only now returning to their normal lively green. "I'm sorry," he said again, nearly pleading. "It all happened so fast. I- I hoped we could save him."

Merry swallowed down a fresh wave of tears with difficulty. The death was too fresh in his mind, the memories overwhelming him. "He was probably relieved you did it, Pip," he whispered, agonized. "He was himself when he died. That's all that matters." Over Pippin's head he saw Strider kneeling beside a shrouded body, preparing it for burial, and shuddered. Hiding his face in Pippin's curls he held his younger cousin closer and desperately repeated his own words back to himself.

_That's all that matters._

A/N: I have shoved all of my other stories off to the side temporarily because I have literally been doing _nothing else_ but writing this story down. I even just scribbled down a four-page essay for English class in an hour because I was so obsessed about writing this story. Needless to say, I have this almost completely written down already. I will be coming back to my other stories soon, too, especially "Turning of An Age", so no need to worry about those.

Chapter 1 will be up no later than Sunday. See you then!


	2. In the Dark of the Night

"_**Chapter 1"**_

Six Months Ago…

"Peregrin Took! What do you think you're doing out here by yourself?!"

Eglantine's voice could be quite loud when she wanted it to be, despite the fact that she was normally quiet-spoken. Her children were certainly the ones who heard her shout the most—as did her husband indirectly as well—but none so much as Pippin. It seemed that that was all she did was shout at or for him on some days. But he was used to it.

He sighed where he stood looking over the fence of the smial to the spacious fields and farms of Tookland. It was evening drawing a beautiful spring day to a close. The green of the Shire was stunning this year and the scent of budding flowers and growing grass was heavy on the light wind blowing. "I'm coming, Mum," he called back, moving away from the fence to show he'd heard her. He waited until the door shut before he leaned against the fence again.

He wanted to go see Merry, but he knew his parents would never allow it. Not now, and certainly not by himself. Buckland was too far away to travel to by himself in their opinion. Of course, nobody traveled alone anymore. Not since something had started to kill livestock and drag their carcasses away. Not since hobbits had started catching sight of an elusive Shadow that spent its time waiting for victims.

Or so those eyewitnesses claimed anyway. Those accidents had started happening some three months ago, and pippin had laughed away them all, sure that it was just superstitious talk—until almost a month ago. Then he had realized just how serious this was.

Sighing, he pushed off of the fence and made his slow way to the yellow door of the smial. There was no point staying outside—he was stuck inside Tookland with no way to get out.

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The next morning he received a surprise—a very welcome one at that. A loud, insistent pounding at his door brought him out a dream of mushrooms and he raised his head out from beneath his pillow just in time to see the door slam open and a familiar golden haired figure came in like a conquering hero.

"Morning, Pip-squeak!" Merry Brandybuck exclaimed cheerfully, arms outstretched as if to receive his younger cousin's praises. "I have come to save you from withering away from inactivity and boredom!"

But Pippin merely hid his head beneath his pillow again.

Merry dropped his arms and crossed them over his chest, cocking his head. "You know," he said thoughtfully, "it was a lot easier to get you out of bed _before_ you became a tweenager." He walked around to the end of Pippin's bed and tore the covers off; grabbing his younger cousin by the ankles, he proceeded to haul him out of the bed. He ignored Pippin's immediate protests and kicking and continued to pull him over the edge of the mattress. 'It's your own fault, you know, Pip. If you just got out of bed by _yourself _we wouldn't have to do this. I could go and get that bucket of ice water, of course—"

"No!" Pippin squeaked, suddenly fully awake. "No, I'm awake, I'm awake, you don't need to splash me again!"

Merry smirked, letting go of his cousin's feet and watching Pippin frantically climb out of bed. "Works every time."

Thirty minutes later the two cousins were walking down the street together, heading to the local pub. "How did you escape Aunt Esme?" Pippin asked Merry with a sly smile.

Merry grinned. "Snuck out the back door," he replied teasingly—but then he sobered and shrugged. "Told her I needed to see you. Mum understands. Ever since…"

"Yeah," Pippin agreed, feeling it would be too difficult to say it aloud. It had been hard hearing about it. He bumped his cousin's shoulder with a reckless grin, firmly pushing away his private thoughts and instead focused on making Merry smile. "C'mon, Cousin—I'm going to beat you at eating the biggest breakfast made this side of the Shire."

Now Merry did laugh. "Of course you will," he said. "I'm nearly an adult. You're still only a young tweenager. Poor Pippin, stuck a tweenager for so long, and still so far to go—" He was still laughing when Pippin pushed him into the hedge beside them.

The one subject they didn't want to talk about came up anyway, through their third course of eggs and ham. Merry had slowed down his eating, merely pushing his food around his plate while Pippin, with all the gusto of youth, continued to eat his fill until he noticed. "What's wrong, Mer?" he asked around a mouthful.

Merry didn't look up from his plate, but the younger hobbit heard him clearly. "It'll be a month this week. One month… They never even found his body." He blinked, still looking down at his plate, and Pippin chose to allow him to push back tears if he needed to. Instead, he leaned in closer so as to not be overheard.

"They say Frodo's death is odder than his parents' drowning," he said softly. "Down at the smials, even here at the pub—it's all they talk about sometimes. Father had to punish one of the workers for talking about it the other day." He sighed unhappily.

Merry looked up at him sharply, his deep blue eyes burning. "There wasn't anything odd about Frodo's parents drowning," he retorted, "and you know it."

"I know it, sure," Pippin said hurriedly, keeping his voice soft, "but you have to admit that nobody expected _Bag End_, of all places, to be broken into. It's in the middle of Hobbiton, after all! If that isn't odd I don't know what is. Why did it happen at Hobbiton?"

But all Merry could do was shrug helplessly. "I don't know. I don't think we ever will."

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It was nearing evening when Pippin started home. Merry had gone his own way, heading back to Buckland and Brandy Hall, so Pippin walked by himself, thinking nothing of that. He knew that his parents would have something to say about it when he got home but he'd deal with their punishment—probably a grounding—when he came to it. He didn't pay attention to passersby's, swept up in his own thoughts, never thinking that he would be getting some answers to his questions.

There was little warning, but when it came it was already too late and he was unprepared for it. Walking along the road back to the smial, he was whistling one of the Walking songs to himself lazily, feeling pleasantly relaxed from the drinks he'd consumed, when suddenly his keen hearing picked up on the near-silent tread of someone behind him in the grass. He spun on his heel, feeling disturbingly sober very quickly, but did not see anyone. The footsteps had stopped as soon as he had.

"Who's there?" he called, trying to keep his voice from trembling.

"Now, Pippin," a voice admonished behind him, "is that how you greet your cousin?"

Pippin froze, feeling like he had been punched in the gut. There was no way he was hearing that voice. No way. He turned. "Frodo?"

His cousin smiled at him from where he stood on the edge of the road. He still looked the same—the same dark hair, fine features, and clear blue eyes Pippin remembered. There was no sign of violence or the struggle Bag End's neighbors had sworn they'd heard the night Frodo disappeared on his body, no blood, no torn clothing. "Who do you think it could be, dearling?"

Pippin shook his head, hard and insistently. "But—you, you disappeared," he said blankly. "Everyone—we thought—"

"That I was dead?" Frodo finished with an odd, wry smile. He laughed quietly. "People spread rumors to suit their own needs, you know, Pippin."

"Where did you go?" Pippin nearly shouted; now that his shock was passing he realized that he was well and truly furious with his older cousin. Furious enough to confront him. "You've been gone nearly a month, we all thought you were dead—all of Hobbiton was going crazy since Bag End was broken into—" He broke off his rant, breathing heavily, wanting to continue but not having the heart to do so. "Just tell me, Frodo, just tell me one thing: where were you?"

He was expecting his cousin to look very shocked at his outburst, ashamed too; expected to hear him apologize and explain what had happened even if upset Pippin.

But Frodo merely _shrugged_. "I was—around," he said evasively.

Something whispered '_wrong_' in Pippin's mind, and he realized that he wasn't just furious with his older cousin anymore. He was uneasy—there was a slight tightening in his gut that left his heart pounding and an odd taste in his mouth. Merry may have been the one to grow up with Frodo, the one also to know him the best, but Pippin had spent enough time around Frodo to know him well too, and his cousin's answer now was as _un_-Frodoish that was possible. He took a step back in instinct before he could stop himself.

Frodo noticed that and something darkly amused entered his expression. "You know, you always had a tendency to believe in only what you could see," he remarked softly. "Even if it wasn't something you _knew_."

This wasn't his cousin. This wasn't Frodo at all. Pippin didn't know what was going on, if this was just a hallucination or something darker: he had to get help. He wanted to find Merry. Merry would be able to tell him what was going on. He had turned and was running when he heard the creature behind him laugh, teasing him. He heard it move but when he looked he saw his cousin had disappeared. When he turned back he realized, however, that he had been mistaken.

"Going somewhere, Pippin?"

He felt something hard hit him over the head, and senselessly he fell to the ground in a heap.

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His head was aching when he woke up, and he felt dizzy. The smell of fresh grass filled his nose, making him want to sneeze. Opening stinging eyes, he blinked to bring his world into focus. It took him a moment to see but soon he realized that he was lying face-down in a small sheltered grove, one he thought was right on the borders of Tookland. It was dark now, well after the time the sun had set, and a chill had overtaken the air. When trying to move he realized with a surge of horror that his hands were bound behind his back and that his feet were likewise tied. He couldn't move. He tried to, feeling panicked, but couldn't even roll over onto his side.

"You'll only hurt yourself doing that."

Frodo's voice above him made him jump and he struggled to crane his neck to see. His cousin stood by his feet, watching him intently, and for a moment they merely looked at each other, vivid green eyes meeting clear blue.

"Frodo—why are you doing this?" Pippin whispered, trying to keep his voice from shaking. There was no answer. "What are you?!"

A strange, almost sad smile crossed his cousin's face. "Still a hobbit, if that's what you mean," he answered. He moved up to Pippin's side, noiseless and quick. "I'm not a ghost." As if to prove his point he gripped Pippin by the forearms and hauled him into a sitting position, but the younger hobbit felt his fingers were ice-cold, almost harsh, unlike the warm ,gentle fingers he remembered.

"You can't be real," he said dazedly.

"Bag End _was_ attacked," his cousin said, standing. "I'm surprised that it didn't wake all the Shire up. It had been quick—too quick. I fought back from—well, whatever it was. I never saw it."

Pippin shuddered. "What was _it_?" he asked trembling, afraid to hear the answer.

And now Frodo smiled—but it was a smile laced with danger. Something predatory. He disappeared into the darkness behind Pippin, seeming to melt into it like he had turned invisible. Then suddenly he was behind Pippin, crouched beside him.

His cousin's breath felt hot against his cheek, a gentle fluttering caress that nonetheless sent a shiver of ice down Pippin's spine. There was something very wrong with the other hobbit, an aura of danger that he knew without thinking that he did not want to see it.

"You will find, Pip-dear," Frodo said softly, "that appearances are not always what they seem to be." A low chuckle caused Pippin's skin to break out in agonizing goosebumps, and he heard a whisper of movement to his right that made him frantically twist where he sat—but his cousin had disappeared again. Then he heard him speak on his other side: "Your mistake, Pippin—and my benefit." And before Pippin could move he felt something sharp like a needle but a thousand times more painful pierce his skin on the vein running down his neck. He cried out in pain and shock but still he was unable to free himself. Then with a rush of horror he realized he wasn't just being bitten—his blood was being drawn up out of his body.

"No—' he gasped, struggling all the more, "_No_—what do you think you're _doing_-?"

"Just relax, Pippin," Frodo replied smoothly, his voice muffled. "It will be over before you know it."

And soon Frodo felt himself start to go blank as it continued, even as a part of him shuddered and wanted to fight back; but the pressure on his neck grew more strident and insistent and his heart started to fly in his chest. His limbs grew heavy and he became light-headed, and half in a dream he felt himself list to the side and onto the grass. Frodo guided him onto his back and they were now pressed nearly body to body. Finally, dying in the grass, unable to draw breath, his vision and other senses going dark, he felt the mouth at his neck detract and deadly-cold fingers stroke his hair. As he slipped—pale and limp—into oblivion he heard Frodo speak:

"I'll be back for you, Pippin. Don't try to run—I'll find you if you do."


	3. Of Nights and Shadows

"_**Chapter 2"**_

_~"Come away, little light,  
Come away to the darkness.  
In the shade of the night we'll come looking for you.  
Come away, little light,  
Come away to the darkness,  
To the ones appointed to see it through.  
We are calling for you-  
We are coming for you."~_

-"Come Away to the Water", Maroon 5

"By the Valar—_Pippin_! Pippin, please, don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead, don't be dead—come on, Pippin, don't do this to me!"

The warm, familiar voice jerked the young hobbit from a deep, dark well of unknowing. He was dazed and disoriented, and as he woke Pippin really wished that he wasn't. His whole body ached and throbbed, his mouth and throat were parched, and waves of dizziness assaulted him. But somehow he felt—different. He could hear frantic breathing above him like it was his own; he could even swear that he heard the heartbeat of his companion beating a tattoo in his chest.

He groaned, his eyes squeezed shut. "Merry…"

His hair was being stroked be trembling fingers. "We were so worried, Pippin," he heard Merry say, sounding like he was holding back tears with difficulty. "You've been missing three days!"

"Three—days?" he couldn't help but ask blankly. His memories were jumbled and confusing so that he couldn't recall anything of what had happened.

"Your parents are going crazy—they're terrified something had happened to you when you didn't come back that night. We all went looking for you the next morning—I thought that Uncle Pal and Aunt Eglantine were going to skin me alive for allowing you to go home alone." His fingers stopped their stroking and instead gripped Pippin's shoulder in a tight, angry hold. "What _happened_, Pippin?" he heard Merry growl furiously.

His tone bothered Pippin—not because Merry was angry but he thought that he had just sounded that same way himself not long ago but he couldn't recall why. Then it clicked.

_-"Just tell me, Frodo, just tell me one thing: _where were you_?"_

With an icy surge of horror it all came flooding back and his eyes snapped open. Merry's face came into view with startling clarity looking down at him with a mix of relief and anger, but then his cousin cried out in shock, his eyes widening, and reflexively he leapt away from Pippin so that the younger hobbit fell fully to the ground again. "Pip," he whispered, "your eyes!"

Struggling with his body's aches and pains, Pippin rolled stiffly onto his stomach—only then realizing that his bonds had been taken away—and then rose unsteadily to his knees. His fingers unconsciously grasped the cool grass beneath him in an attempt to steady himself. "What about my—"

"They're—they're—" Merry stammered on the words, trying to describe what he saw, but was unable to articulate. His gaze was riveted on Pippin's face in horror and fear. Fear of him, and that realization hurt more than anything else. For a long, still moment the two cousins only stared at each other. Then: "They're yellow, Pip!" Merry was white with shock. Pippin could do nothing but openly gape at him.

"Mer—that's _impossible_." Feeling frightened himself, he instinctively reached for his cousin, as much for comfort as to _give_ comfort, but even as his hand came up Merry flinched back. Pippin felt like he'd been punched in the gut. "Merry!" He had never known his cousin to move away from his touch—never. Feeling lost and bewildered, he shakily crawled closer but Merry hastily backed away backwards.

"Don't touch me!"

The older hobbit's cry made Pippin flinch back himself; his eyes started to burn with tears. "What did I do?" he cried miserably. "Mer—I'm still Pippin, it's your Pip! I don't know what happened! I don't know why you're frightened of me! I didn't know that three days have passed—all I remember is the night you visited me—my walking home—Frodo—"

"_Frodo_?" Merry repeated sharply, his shock deepening. "What would our _dead cousin_ have to do with this? With you?"

Something deep inside Pippin shuddered violently, both with grief and fear. "I saw him, Merry! That night—he came and—and—" He shook his head violently. "Maybe he is dead, but he was there, there in the Road by the smial, he called to me! But he's not like our Frodo, Mer, not like ours' at all! He attacked me and dragged me here and—"

"Did this to you?" Merry's voice was flat and he looked at his younger cousin in a way he never had before. "This is your explanation?" he said in disgust. "You're going to dredge up Frodo's memory in such a way—you're going to _slander_ him?" He picked himself up from the ground and looked down at his shivering young cousin without pity. "Maybe you did have too much to drink that night, Peregrin Took," he said coldly, "and the Sun must have tricked my eyes just now. When you dare to repeat the story you've just told me to your parents, you can do it on your own!" And hardening his heart to the broken, shocked look that appeared on Pippin's face, he turned violently on his heel and stalked off.

"Merry—Merry, _please_!" Pippin's voice broke and the tears that he'd been holding back finally escaped his hold. "Please, come back! Merry!"

But his cousin did not—and knowing he never would, Pippin bent and hid his face in the grass.

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Infuriated, Merry stormed down the deserted road, disbelieving and hurt. He didn't know what had made Pippin come up with such slanderous tales—he hadn't even thought Pippin capable of such things anyway. Especially not about Frodo. To hear him speaking of Frodo now in a way made him furious. He had walked away because he needed time to calm down and think all of this through rationally; otherwise he would have said something to Pippin that would have completely shattered tings between them. So he shut his ears with difficulty to his cousin's pleas and continued walking away. Let someone else deal with the young Took for right now—he wasn't able to.

What unsettled him the most was not Pippin's claims. No, what bothered him the most was that he knew that the Sun had not manipulated his sight. He knew that, somehow, Pippin had golden eyes suddenly, unearthly eyes that still sent a shiver down his back. Then his horror had deepened when, as Pippin became more and more upset, the gold had started to burn with red. That was not natural at _all_, and he hated feeling afraid of his younger cousin, but for now he truly was. So he had left as soon as he could. It made him feel like a coward, but he needed to leave before his fear hurt Pippin more.

_But he needs you now more than ever,_ his conscience whispered to him, and he bit his lip. He stopped in the road and hung his head.

_I can't face him like that. Not right now._

_But whose fears matter more right now? Yours—or his?"_

He knew that Pippin's did. He knew that, on the final level, Merry himself was being selfish. Should fear determine how you reacted to something or someone. What did his mother continually tell him? _"Judge the way you would like to judged, Merry Brandybuck. Things aren't always what they seem, you know."_

He sighed to himself, a mite angrily. His mother was right, and he knew that he had reacted wrongly; especially since he had known that Pippin had already been frightened and confused. Now guilt hit him. He had left his younger cousin alone because he was angry, when he should have reminded himself that his family came first. Pippin had been missing three _days_, and this was how Merry reacted? His mother would be disappointed in him, he knew. He didn't know what Pippin would make of him now.

Did it really matter what had happened to Pippin? Merry asked himself. He was still his cousin, and it still stood that Merry loved and cared for Pippin.

After realizing that, turning around and heading back wasn't so hard at all.

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Pippin was gone when he reached the grove, however, and Merry stood feeling lost himself for a moment. He hoped that his cousin had not left to avoid him, but he had to admit that that was likely the case. He wouldn't be surprised if Pippin were to hold this against him for a while. He was tempted to just back off and let his cousin to be alone for a while to get his head straight, but he knew that he was too worried not to follow him. Luckily, Pippin Took was not one to walk softly unless he absolutely needed to, and so Merry could pick out his trail fairly well. His cousin had always been one to wander while he was walking, distracted by several different things as he went along, and it seemed that even upset he was no different. Merry was able to follow Pippin's mindless walk from the grove, and realized that his cousin's trail led to the larger forest that sat on the eastern borders of Tookland. He wasn't sure why Pippin was heading that way, but he had a sinking feeling that his cousin was trying to avoid other hobbits. Did he believe that he was a monster? He picked up his pace without thinking, feeling his sense of shame deepening. Had he driven Pippin away by his actions and his words?

The forest on the border of Tookland was small against the Old Forest on the borders of Buckland, and it wasn't as old or as dangerous, but it still wasn't something that was normally travelled or explored. Only younger hobbits early in their tweens usually did, but Pippin wasn't a young tween anymore. It was worrying. He didn't know what his young cousin was thinking or what he was planning on doing.

He hesitated at the edge of the trees. The shadows in the small forest were deep anyway, even if the trees themselves were younger and not as close as the Old Forest. But the thought of his cousin alone made him go in anyway. Pippin's trail continued its vague way farther and farther in, winding its way around trees and swerving bushes, his small feet crinkling grass and his hands having bent and snapped twigs and the supple limbs of ferns.

Then the trail seemed to lurch, and merry wondered at its cause until he found his cousin's footprints again—it seemed that Pippin had lunged at something, but he wasn't sure what—

Then he recoiled in disgust. Only a few inches from his left foot he saw a dead hare lying crumpled nearly beneath a low bush. Pippin's feet had trampled the grass beside it. He wondered why until he saw with another surge of horror that the hare's skin on its neck had been ripped open—but there was no sign of blood running from its wound.

Old wives' tales of creatures that drank blood ran through his mind and he nearly turned around right then and there. There was no way, no possible way…

But the only way he'd ever know what had happened to Pippin was to _ask_ him.

Trying to ignore the carcass lying there, he studied his cousin's trail. Something had changed in it, but he wasn't sure what. Truly concerned now, Merry followed it. It was not difficult now—Pippin's footsteps were suddenly heavy and walked in a straight line, whether it was through grass, dirt, or even mud. From the evidence before him, it seemed like something had suddenly started _controlling_ his cousin; like Pippin had been hypnotized and hadn't cared where he was going. Fear pounded through Merry's veins at the thought that perhaps the thing that had taken Frodo now was going to take Pippin. _Why did I leave him alone?_ he cried to himself.

His speed quickened even more. Soon he came upon a shaded break in the forest, an open glade surrounded by tall trees and low-hanging flowers and bushes. And there Pippin stood, ramrod straight and strangely still, in the exact center of the space, his gaze eerily blank and unseeing. Just as Merry was going to step out, his keen hearing picked up the sound of approaching footsteps and he shrank back. Then the ferns on the other side of the glade rustled, and Merry saw with a jolt of fear a shadow emerge—and was heading straight for Pippin, who still did nothing, caught under some kind of trance. Without thinking, Merry jumped from his hiding place with no thoughts of his own safety.

"_Pippin!"_


	4. Into the Calm and the Quiet

"_**Chapter3"**_

A/N: I'd like to thank the two authors who have reviewed this story so far. I'm glad you're enjoying it!

The poem cited in the beginning is kind of tricky to credit. Some people argue that Edgar Allan Poe originally penned it, but historians also say that it isn't, so it's up to the individual to decide, I suppose.

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_~"Hush now, dear children, it must be this way  
to weary of life and Deceptions  
Rest now, my children, for soon we'll away  
into the calm and the Quiet"~_

After Merry had left, Pippin had sat bowed into the grass, weeping in his sadness and bewilderment. He didn't know what was happening, to himself or anything else, and now Merry was mad at him—Merry, the one person Pippin had been sure would believe him. But he had seen the look of disgust and anger his older cousin had sent him before leaving, and Pippin had realized that that he was very much alone in this right now. He wanted to believe that Merry would come back sooner or later—the opposite was too terrible to contemplate—but his fear that he had been abandoned for good was overpowering.

_-"…when you dare to repeat the story you've just told me to your parents, you can do it on your own!"_

He couldn't go home. Not now. Not after the way Merry had reacted—what would his parents do? Would they look at his eyes like his cousin had and call him a monster? Would they banish him from the smial?

He shivered at the thought. Had Frodo felt the same way after he was attacked? Had he decided to stay away from those he loved to spare them the horror of what he had become? But Pippin was not going to apologize for speaking of their older cousin. Frodo had been there, real and solid, and it had been Frodo who had done this to him. He had not imagined it—he hurt too much to have simply _dreamed_ it all.

So what could he do? He couldn't go home? Merry wouldn't help him now. He didn't even know want to find any other hobbits, fearful that they would shun him as well.

_-"I'll be back for you, Pippin."_

Should _he_ go looking for Frodo? Though his heart shuddered at the thought, he didn't have much of a choice. He had no idea what had happened that night, had no idea what he'd been turned into, but _Frodo_ knew. If Pippin wanted answers, he realized he would have to find the ne responsible, even if he trembled to think of the Darkness now surrounding his oldest cousin.

Shakily he pulled himself to his feet, trying to ignore the slight dizziness pounding behind his eyes. He didn't even know where he could find Frodo but he had an idea that the latter would be able to find him. So all he had to do was walk and try his hardest to avoid any other hobbits that he could happen to run into. Steeling his nerve, he took a deep breath and set off to do just that

He knew Tookland well enough that he could walk it blindfolded, so it actually wasn't difficult to avoid the Road. His hearing seemed impossibly good and he could hear the footsteps of other hobbits travelling along its path, pushing carts or riding ponies. He slunk through the underbrush of the grove and willed himself to be as silent and invisible as possible. He made his way without being seen and headed over to the eastern border of his homeland, thinking that that would at least be a sheltered enough place that he wouldn't have to worry about being discovered. Maybe he was growing Darker as well—a thought he didn't want to think about—because he had no hesitation in walking into the trees' shadows. He followed a slight dirt path into the grass through several feet, and he felt his stomach growl. He realized suddenly how hungry he was but didn't have anything on him—

Then his hearing picked up the slight scuffle of movement and he turned to see a brown hare sitting frozen a few feet away from him, half-cowering beneath a bush as it looked at him. Without even thinking, he lunged.

The rabbit squeaked in terror and before it could run he had pounced upon it, catching its small, struggling body in his fingers. Somehow he could hear the blood pounding through its veins and it made him _hungry_, almost mad with want. Before his horrified mind could quite make sense of what was happening, now instinct took over and he felt his incisors sharpen, and without hesitation he sunk them into the hare, slicing its neck open and it fell limply in his hold. Coppery blood gushed into his mouth and he nearly moaned at how _good_ it tasted. He drank greedily, feeling strength rushing through his limbs and chasing away the dizziness still hounding him, until much too soon he had drunk the hare's body dry.

His mind, however, finally caught up with what had just transpired; he had killed a defenseless creature, he had drunk its blood. Was that what happened to _him_ three nights ago—his blood drunk until he was dead or near it and then somehow brought back? Feeling his stomach roil rebelliously at the thought, Pippin threw the carcass away from him, trembling uncontrollably now, his breathing harsh and heavy.

He was a monster. There was no other thing he could be. A new thought now terrified him—he couldn't return to his family, couldn't take part in society. What if he killed someone, a hobbit, and drank _their_ blood? What if he killed his mother or father? His sisters? Merry? If one of them managed to hurt themselves and they bled, he would be unable to control himself. Even if some part of him was disgusted with drinking blood, another new part of him reveled in it.

'_Pippin.'_

The silent call caught his attention immediately and he crouched utterly still and quiet with all previous fears and thoughts wiped from his mind. He could _feel_ something, a presence pressing at the corners of his mind, calling for him, and he knew who it was. He stood, caught up in only the thought that he had to find the one calling for him; all fear was banished from his mind, all resistance unthinkable. Instinctively he knew which direction to take and standing he started off again, walking like one possessed through the trees without any thought of where he was going. He was being summoned and he couldn't say no.

When he reached a small, open glade he was bidden to stop and he did so, knowing that he would soon be joined. Any fear at the thought was ignored, his cousin's call like a siren's song. He simply waited patiently, calmly, as Frodo approached. He heard a faint whisper of movement and finally his cousin came into view. In the full light of day, Pippin saw he had changed a little—his skin was paler now, alabaster-white and unblemished, and something about the way he walked and stood spoke of a predator. And like Pippin's, his eyes were shining a golden-red, albeit more red. But his smile was gently enough.

"_Pippin!"_

That was when Merry's terrified voice broke through the silence and the calm.


	5. Battle of Wills

_**Chapter 4**_

Pippin didn't react to his outcry, but Merry saw the shadowed figure standing before him move with the speed of a stalking feline, turning to face him. Merry had been so fearful for his youngest cousin that he had ignored all else, but now he saw just_ who_ it was at fault for Pippin's situation.

The fine features were the same, as was the dark hair, and Merry nearly rocked back on his heels as he realized—

"_Maybe he_ is_ dead, but he was there, there in the Road by the smial, he called to me!"_

"Frodo?"

"_He's not like our Frodo, Merry, not ours at all!"_

And the cousin he'd thought dead for over a month looked at him and _hissed_, like a warning to stay away. "Merry." He smiled then but it was laced with danger, telling him that he had done the wrong thing following Pippin. There was nothing familiar in his face. "Come to take your cousin back?" His voice was low and taunting.

Merry's whole being seemed to have numbed; his hands were clenched into tight fists so tight they ached and his heart was flying in his ribcage, but he felt nothing and could understand nothing as he looked at this monstrosity standing before him, because he knew suddenly without a doubt Pippin had been telling the truth. The young Took had indeed been attacked and changed in a way beyond Merry's complete comprehension—and it was all because of this monster that _dared_ wear his beloved cousin's face. The fury on the Brandybuck's face was terrible to see, much less be the one under his gaze, but Frodo did not look intimidated in the least. For a long, still moment that still held a lifetime, the two hobbits merely locked gazes and made no moves for either retreat or attack. Finally, when the blood fairly deafened him as it thundered through his head, Merry whispered in a strangled voice not at all like his own,

"_You_—you _did this_ to him!" The object of his attention shifted to said 'him', who was still standing immovable and looking blankly off into the distance like one hypnotized.

"Yes. I did." The answer was not spoken proudly or even triumphantly: they could have been talking about the weather for all the inflection Frodo put into those three little words. Three little words that still served to rock Merry back a step, his face stricken. One dark eyebrow sidled upwards. "Instinct, you know."

'_Instinct!' _Merry's mind screamed, and he unconsciously echoed that out loud. "Instinct!" So it was instinct, was it, to do such terrible things an innocent hobbit, a tweenager and_ family_ no less?

And just as Pippin had before, Merry now saw a strange, almost-sad look flit across Frodo's face. "Don't try to understand it. You won't be able to." Then his expression shifted and he was once again a stranger. He looked over at Pippin. "You'll have to excuse us now, Merry. Pippin—_come_."

Without a word, not even a hesitancy in his step, Pippin did so, taking a step towards Frodo. His face was still frighteningly blank. Merry felt his heart leap into his throat, knowing somehow that if he lost Pippin now to Frodo then he would lose him forever.

"Pippin," he pleaded desperately, his whole being focused on bringing his younger cousin to his side. And to his astonishment and joy, Pippin hesitated. He swallowed on a dry throat. "Pippin, please, come here."

And still Pippin hesitated. The veil of control had dropped slightly from his eyes and he looked bewildered and unsure as his gaze flickered between the two calling for him. Finally he turned a little and looked at Merry, and something in his expression cleared. Merry felt relief nearly choke him and held out his hand soothingly. "Come on, Pip," he said softly.

And Pippin took a step towards him—and then another. And then a third.

"_Pippin."_

If Merry had thought that Frodo would attack, now would be the time. He half-convinced himself that Frodo would not let Pippin reach the Brandybuck's side and that he would sooner see the tween dead before letting him go. Therefore he was surprised when he looked over Pippin's shoulder to see Frodo standing exactly where he had been before, watching closely.

"Pippin," he said softly, so softly Merry was hard-pressed to overhear, "you want answers. I can give them to you. Do you think you will find them with _him_?"

"Don't listen to him, Pip," Merry said harshly. "He's lying to you." His heart was breaking speaking those words—never in his whole life had he accused Frodo of lying—but Pippin's situation was more important.

For a long, agonizing moment Pippin seemed to teeter between them, as if there were two wills dragging on his limbs, but still his head was turned towards Merry, and there was a plea to help him.

Merry took a step forward, hand still outstretched. "Don't turn your back on me, Peregrin Took," he said, his tone softening the harsh-sounding words.

And finally Pippin shook his head as if to clear it and looked at Merry as if seeing him for the first time. Then he moved to meet him.

"M-Merry—" he stammered out, and fairly collapsed into Merry's outstretched arms, trembling and his breath coming in ragged gasps.

Trying to keep his own trembling under control, Merry stroked his younger cousin's copper curls and swallowed down a lump in his throat. Then he looked over the tween's head, unable to help the small spark of triumph in the battle of wills.

Frodo was watching them again, his gaze focused first on Pippin, and there was something almost regretful in his expression, a hunger that burned without words and without explanation.

Then he looked at Merry, and the smile that he shot at him made Merry's heart skip a beat. "You will regret what you've done, Merry-mine," he said softly. "You will regret it indeed."


End file.
